It Is What It Is
by FrannyLuvsAll
Summary: One year later and nothing's changed. ONE SHOT.


**Disclaimer: **_**I OWN NOTHING OF NCIS. **__**OBVIOUSLY.**_

* * *

Tel Aviv is unseasonably cool. She pulls the blanket higher around her shoulders, setting her tea cup on the railing's edge as she looks out over the city. She spends most nights on this balcony curled in a chair, listening to the sounds of the streets below.

It's been a year to the day, and she allows her tears to come. Covering her mouth with her hand, she tries to hold herself together. She carries the regret of her decision, knowing there are some choices that have to be seen through. But it doesn't mean anything has changed.

She closes her eyes and whispers his name into the darkness, shivering against the cold.

_Tony._

* * *

No one mentions it, but he can feel it hang in the air like a shroud over their collective consciousness. Sadness, sorrow even with a faint wisp of anger and belied confusion. He's aware of the eyes on him, those looks of concern nestled deep in furrowed brows and half-turned smiles.

He tries to ignore the weighted feeling in his chest, concentrating steadily on taking even breaths. The day crawls slowly, his pressured breathing and this growing ache taking residence under his ribcage has drawn his focus.

He types reports.

He drinks coffee.

He answers when called.

DiNozzo.

DiNozzo.

_Tony._

The sound of her voice pulls at the ache, stretching against his ribs hard enough to crack bone. The short hairs along the nape of his neck rise as warmth spikes through his spine, the same heat pooling low in his belly.

_He nips at the delicate skin of the inside of her wrist, their fingers tightly entwined. She smells of lavender and spice. Dragging his lips along her skin from wrist to elbow, he tugs her gently from the bed and into his lap. She's warm, so warm; and those harsh lines of her body are soft and pliable under his touch, as if she were clay. Rich and golden, molding herself to fit until he's not sure where he stops and she begins. _

He blinks hard. Once.

_Her knuckles are white as she grips the sheets, his mouth pressing onto her hip bone breathing "I love you" against her skin. _

Twice.

_The moan escaping her lips when he sucks on the skin high inside her thigh causes him to chuckle. She releases her grip on the sheets to reach down a hand and grab a fistful of his hair with a tug. When their eyes meet, the heat of her gaze stirs in him something primal. But it's her smile, the brightest he can remember seeing, that shatters him. He's crawling over her body before she realizes, wrapping his arms around her and holding tight. _

Three times.

_With her face pressed into his neck, nose rubbing against the stubble under his jaw, she sighs deeply. Her hands are tracing mindless patterns along his back and there is nothing, nothing that compares to her. _

"Tony? Hell-o?" The movement vaguely registers, his mind still half a world away.

"Earth to DiNozzo? Come in, DiNozzo?" Several seconds pass before he's hurtled back to the present, grimacing at the blonde in the desk across from him. She's waving her arms above her head, a file in one hand, and a comically quizzical look etching her features.

"You can have the file now," she says slowly, carefully enunciating. Reaching out the hand holding the folder, she raises her eyebrows in question.

Recovering quickly, he leaves his chair and crosses to her desk. He grabs for the file, but she holds on tight. "Are you ok? You look like you've seen a ghost?" Her concern is genuine, but he can't help the dismissive snort.

"Get back to work, Bishop. I'm fine." Wincing at the shortness of his reply, he turns back and holds up the file. "Thanks." She shrugs both shoulders, but looks to her computer without another word.

Back at his desk, he struggles to read through the redacted pages of the file, unable to shake the vivid memory as the ache returns to his chest. Briefly glancing around the bullpen to be sure he's not watched, he opens his top desk drawer.

He stares at the pendant as the hopelessness of longing causes tears to prick at the back of his eyelids. Pushing the drawer closed, he leans back in his chair and takes a deep breath, squaring the muscles in his jaw.

_Nothing's changed._


End file.
